


I've Got a Question for My Dragonfly

by cest_what



Series: Drink Me [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:59:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cest_what/pseuds/cest_what
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are probably better first impressions than the kind you make when you're jumping off a cart after a mechanical dragonfly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got a Question for My Dragonfly

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday ficlet for oddishly. Originally posted to [LJ](http://cest-what.livejournal.com/18736.html) February 2009.

"Walker! Jonny, Jonathan Walker, you need to look at this."

Jon looked up, blinking into the sun. He pushed the fringe out of his eyes with the hand holding his screwdriver. Pete Wentz flashed a very white, very bright grin at him, hopping the rest of the way down the catwalk that connected his lofty office to the lower levels of the communications tower. Not that Pete spent a lot of time in his lofty office. He was either a strong proponent of the hands-on approach to owning a business, or he had a seriously low attention span when it came to paperwork. Jon was willing to charitably believe that it might be both. Either way, Pete spent most of his time wandering around the tower and striking up conversations with technicians.

Jon rocked back on his heels, putting the screwdriver and the receiver he'd been recalibrating down on the plank beside him. "Hey, Mr Wentz," he said. "What's up?"

Pete hopped up onto the stack of boards Jon had been using as a work table. He was holding something cradled against his chest. Jon could see the gleam of what looked like bronze. "Have I mentioned?" Pete asked, "that Patrick Stump is a genius? I don't know, I feel like I might have forgotten to tell people."

Jon grinned. Patrick had patented most of the technology that the communications tower ran on, so, yeah. "You might have mentioned it," Jon said.

Pete nodded. "Genius, yes. Walker, you need to look at this, because it's _fantastic_. Patrick made it." He held out what was in his hands, giving it a paternal look. "Isn't it fantastic?"

The invention shook itself out as Pete relaxed his grip. Four delicate wings snagged against his fingers and shook loose, somehow graceful and ungainly at the same time. It looked as though it was made of hollowed out bronze cogs, intricately worked and fitted together. The wings were jewel-blue netting stretched tight over wire. They were triple-jointed where they connected to the body.

It looked like a dragonfly; one born of machines.

Pete stroked his thumb over one wing, his expression soft. He regularly fell in love with Patrick's inventions, Jon knew; it was one of the reasons he was so good at selling the ideas to the city. It was still startling to watch.

Pete looked up, his smile flashing bright. He let his fingers open, and the dragonfly went still. Then its wings shifted, testing the air. They flapped once, twice, then began to whirr, a blur of movement. The intricate bronze body shifted, cogs turning neatly, and the dragonfly darted up from Pete's palm.

Jon tilted his head up, grinning and surprised.

"It's intended for carrying messages up the tower when there isn't time to send a runner," Pete said. "Patrick says," he added conscientiously. "But it's a bit –" The contraption dodged to the side, and Pete's hand snapped out, catching it. "– temperamental, still," Pete finished. He grinned at Jon, holding it out in both hands. "Look."

Jon reached out, curious. The contraption was lying quiescent in Pete's hands, now, wings still. Jon picked it up, his hands careful.

"Woah." The mechanical dragonfly squirmed, cogs shifting, and slipped out of Jon's hold. He lunged for it and it fluttered from side to side, avoiding his hands. Pete was laughing, completely unhelpful. Jon leaned out over the edge of the platform, holding onto a loop of chain from one of the pulleys above. The whirring dragonfly dropped sharply, then darted away into the street.

"Shit!" Jon considered the drop for a second, came to the decision that he couldn't jump it, and ran across the platform, leaping onto the ladder on the inside. He shinned down. He could hear Pete saying, "_Seriously_," and laughing behind him.

The dragonfly was darting between the jostling crowd you always got at street level, technicians and rope boys and people in smart street clothes visiting the tower on business. Jon saw a couple of boys fall back, stumbling over each other to avoid the metal dragonfly as it whizzed by, netting wings blurring. It lost speed a moment later, coasting docilely upwards. A girl holding a sheaf of encrypted messages hugged them to her chest and pointed, laughing.

Jon ducked under the length of wood two junior technicians were carrying on their shoulders and squeezed past a girl in full skirts. He reached the far end of the square and leapt onto the end of a cart. "One second!" he promised the man trying to manoeuvre the cart into the drop-off bay. The bronze dragonfly coasted above him a moment later, and Jon scrambled into a jump, closing his fingers around the outside of the wings.

He landed on the cobblestones, staggering but holding Patrick's invention in his hands.

Jon took a second to catch his breath. He leaned his head back against the cart, rocking it to the side and smiling at the carter. "Sorry," he laughed.

The carter just gave him a harried look and waved him off. Jon pushed away, holding the dragonfly against his stomach. It was still shifting in his hold, tiny cogs whirring and moving against each other, wings fluttering at his hands.

There was a boy looking at him. He was younger than Jon – maybe seventeen. He was standing in the middle of the square, holding a professional-looking folder with a grip that looked white-knuckled. His light brown fringe was falling in his eyes. He brushed it away, taking his eyes off Jon, and turned his attention to the square. He looked lost, and vaguely panicked.

Jon shrugged and headed over to him, pushing his mussed hair back and straightening his shirt. The dragonfly clicked and whirred in his hand, testing its wings, and he tightened his grip.

The boy looked up as Jon approached. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Hi," Jon said, giving him an easy smile. "Are you looking for someone?"

The boy bit his lip. "Yes?" he said. "Yes. I mean. Sorry." He ran a hand through his hair, making a face at himself. "I haven't done this before. I'm here for the daily dispatches?" He made a helpless gesture. "I don't know where to go."

Jon frowned for a second. Then, "Oh, you're with the _newspaper_. You mean the foreign news dispatches, right?"

Colour rose in the boy's – the newspaper cadet's – cheeks. "Yes," he said. "God. I sound like a complete moron. Sorry." He fumbled with his folder. "I have my press badge, if you need it?"

Jon smiled again, crinkling his eyes. "You sound like you haven't done this job before, that's all." He pointed over the boy's shoulder, making him turn. "You need to go up to the telegram office – that's up there, with the blue door that's open at the top of the ramp."

"Thank you." The cadet turned and offered Jon his hand, smiling. His hair slipped into his eyes again, straight and soft-looking. He smiled with his mouth and eyes both, suddenly young and happy and it was ridiculously as though he'd just walked into sunshine.

"I'm heading back that way," Jon found himself saying. "I'll walk with you."

He was actually surprised to find that he could still talk at all. He sort of wanted to flail.

"Thanks," the cadet said, surprised again. He pushed his fringe out of his eyes; Jon wanted to do it for him. Instead he shook himself and started forward, the cadet falling into step beside him. Jon noticed that he held his posture straight as they walked. He seemed to be proving to himself that he was competent and not overwhelmed; there was a firm set to his mouth. Jon didn't think he'd ever seen anybody so dignified and so nervous at the same time.

The cadet was sneaking looks at the dragonfly still clicking and shifting in Jon's hand. He caught Jon looking back and flushed again. "What is that?" he asked, his smile embarrassed. "I saw you catch it before..."

Jon smiled. "It's a prototype? I don't know, Pete – Mr Wentz was showing it to me, but it got away from me. It's supposed to be for messages, he says, but who knows really."

"Can I–?" the cadet shot him a questioning glance. "It looked glittery in the air. Can I see it?"

Jon lifted it carefully. He picked up the cadet's hand and folded his fingers around the light bronze body. "Here, don't let go," he said. "It's tricky. Put your other hand over the wings." The cadet nodded, biting his lip with concentration and adjusting his grip, and Jon took his own hands away.

The dragonfly immediately squirmed and the cadet let out a surprised sound, tightening his hands. The wings were fluttering, the thin netting batting against the cadet's palms. He adjusted his grip, running one finger along a wing. He was smiling as if he'd never seen anything so cool. "This is amazing." He looked up, including Jon in the smile, and it was wider than before and almost laughing. "This is so ... it looks like a dragonfly." The invention squirmed again and the cadet laughed out loud, the sound almost a giggle.

Jon maybe wanted him to smile forever. He leaned back against a post at the bottom of the telegraph office ramp, tilting his head to one side and feeling completely obvious. "I'll tell Mr Wentz you like it," he promised.

The cadet grinned and rolled his eyes. "You should take it back," he said, holding it out. "I'll drop it."

Jon maybe let their hands touch longer than they needed to while he was negotiating the handover. The cadet just grinned at him though. Then he ducked his head in a shy motion, and Jon was seriously so gone. When the cadet lifted his head again he looked embarrassed and as though he was fighting the urge to make a face at himself again. "Thanks for showing me where to come," he said, gesturing at the ramp. "And for..." he nodded at the dragonfly in Jon's hands.

Jon rocked back on his heels. "No, hey," he said. "My pleasure."

The cadet nodded, biting his lip against another smile. Then he turned and started up the ramp, his steps quick and decisive.

"Hey!" Jon called. "You'll be back tomorrow for the dispatches, right?"

The cadet turned, grinning. He nodded and waved. "Yeah."

Jon smiled back. He could maybe not have physically stopped himself. Then he adjusted the mechanical dragonfly in his hands and made his way back to his workstation, jumping over obstructions in the road and waving at people.

Pete was actually folded over with laughter when Jon got back. His eyes were watering. He'd obviously seen the exchange with the cadet at the end. "Oh, wow," he said, breathless. "Did you even get his name? Tell me you got his name, Jonny Walker."

Jon smiled at him. "Nope."

Pete shook his head. "Oh, man."

Jon cricked his head to the side, his hands careful on the dragonfly invention, and resisted the urge to say something completely embarrassing like 'I got his smile'. Even though he was thinking it.

Instead he grinned, crinkling his eyes. "You should tell Patrick, Pete. His invention is _awesome_."


End file.
